“I’ll tell you what,” said Tattine thoughtfully, “shouldn’t wonder if they belong to Betsy. I’ve seen her crowding herself through one of the air-holes under the piazza several times lately,” whereupon the children hurried to peer through the air hole. Nothing was to be seen, however, for the piazza floor was not more than a foot and a half from the ground, and it was filled with all sorts of weeds that flourished without sunshine. Still the little puppy cries were persistently wafted out from some remote corner, and, pulling off his jacket, Rudolph started to crawl in and investigate. It did not seem possible that he could make his way, for the place was not high enough for him even to crawl on his hands and knees, and he had rather to worm himself along on his elbows in quite indescribable fashion. Still, Tattine and Mabel were more than ready to have him try, and waited patiently, bending over with their hands upon their knees, and gazing in through the weed-grown hole in breathless, excited fashion.
“I believe I’ll have to give it up,” Rudolph called back; “the cries seem as far off as ever and I’m all but scratched to pieces.” “Oh, don’t! don’t!” cried Tattine and Mabel, in one breath, and Mabel added, “We MUST know what they are and where they are. I shall go in myself if you come out.”
“Well, you wouldn’t go more than three feet then, I can tell you,” and Rudolph was right about that. It was only because he hated to give the thing up, even more than the girls hated to have him, that made him persevere. “Well, here they are at last!” he cried exultingly, a few moments later; “one, two three, four of them, perfect little beauties too. And they must belong to Betsy; they’re just like her.”
“Bring one out, bring one out!” called both the children, and fairly dancing with delight.
“Bring out your grandmother! It’s all I can manage to bring myself out, without holding on to a puppy.”
“Very well,” Tattine called back, with her usual instant acceptance of the inevitable, “but I know what,” and then she was off in a flash, with Mabel following closely to find out what WHAT might be.
It was Joseph the gardener whom Tattine wanted, and she found him where she thought she would, killing potato-bugs in the kitchen-garden.
“What do you think, Joseph? Betsy has a beautiful set of little setters under the piazza. Come quick, please! and see how we can get them out.”
Joseph followed obediently. “Guess we’ll have to let them stay there till they crawl out,” said Joseph; “Betsy’ll take as good care of them there as anywhere,” whereupon the children looked the picture of misery and despair. At this moment Rudolph emerged from the hole a mass of grass and dirt stains, and both Mabel and Tattine thought he had been pretty plucky, though quite too much preoccupied to tell him so, but Rudolph happily felt himself repaid for hardships endured, in the delight of his discovery.
“It will be a month before they’ll have sense enough to crawl out,” he remarked to Joseph, “and they’re wedged in between some old planks in very uncomfortable fashion. They look like fine little fellows too. I think we ought to manage in some way to get them out.”